<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Freedom by cheride</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25179577">Freedom</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheride/pseuds/cheride'>cheride</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>White Collar (TV 2009)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Friendship, Gen, Holidays</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 04:22:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,526</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25179577</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheride/pseuds/cheride</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the Fourth of July, and Neal is planning a cookout for the White Collar crew to celebrate.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Freedom</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Back in the day, when traditional network television scheduling ruled the world, it was easy to place particular events (canon or otherwise) at a fixed point on the calendar. Then came the advent of cable programming schedules, with their random start dates, split seasons, and all the rest, and it suddenly became complicated to match events with a real-world time frame. In the White Collar world, add to the mix that Jeff Eastin is on record as saying each season represents approximately a six-month time span, and you might as well just throw the calendar out the window. But none of that changes the fact that I wanted to write a holiday story. So, in my headcanon, this takes place early in S02, between “Need to Know” and “Copycat Caffrey,” episode 2.5, if you will.

Also, yes, I know the 4th of July holiday has passed, but sometimes the muse just doesn’t cooperate like you wish she would. I hope my U.S. friends enjoyed the day. </p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p> </p><p>“Oh, come on, Peter, it’ll be fun. We’ll grill some burgers and hot dogs, have some watermelon, drink some beer. It’ll be perfect.”</p><p>Finally unable to ignore the non-stop wheedling, Peter Burke lifted his eyes from the file folder on his desk. “Who are you and what have you done with Neal Caffrey?”</p><p>Caffrey pouted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”</p><p>“There’s not a single bit of what you just described that you’re usually interested in. Last week when I tried to get you to have a hot dog for lunch, you threatened to report me to the ACLU for violating your eighth amendment rights.” Burke shook his head. “And <em>beer</em>? What about your frou-frou wine?”</p><p>“First of all,” Neal began patiently, “grabbing a hot dog from a cart on the corner <em>is</em> cruel and unusual. A lunch break is supposed to be a <em>break</em>, a chance to sit and relax, not scarf down the cheapest piece of meat imaginable while standing around dodging pigeon crap. And as for the beer, that’s what you do at a cookout, right? And a cookout is what you do on the Fourth of July.” He smiled his most charming smile, even though he knew it rarely worked with his FBI handler. “But we can have frou-frou wine, too, if you want.”</p><p>Burke rolled his eyes. “You’re like a kid, you know that?” he huffed at his CI, but the barest upward twitch of his lips gave him away. “And I’m telling you now, don’t come crying to me when you get the entire office hooked on that view of yours, and you never have another moment alone.”</p><p>Grinning, Neal asked, “So, that’s a yes?”</p><p>“At the risk of repeating myself, you don’t need my permission to host an office cookout at your own apartment, but if you feel like you need it, then, yes, you have my blessing.”</p><p>“And you’ll come, right?” Neal was obviously hopeful.</p><p>“If you really want to invite your boss, then, yes, I’ll be there.” He tapped the file. “Now, can we please get back to work?”</p><p>“I’m going to invite Hughes, too, so you won’t really be <em>the</em> boss.”</p><p>“When it comes to you, I’m always the boss,” Peter told him with an evil grin. “Now work.”</p><p>Caffrey grimaced as he re-opened his own folder. “I’m not really interested in how Mortensen made his fortune by scamming real estate loans, Peter,” he complained, “maybe you could help me choose some drinks for the cookout instead? Well,” he added quickly, “the beer, I mean. I’ll handle the frou-frou wine on my own.”</p><p>But this time, Burke stayed firm. “Well, get interested,” he instructed, pointing at the blue folder. “A lot of people are getting ripped off by this guy, and we need to find a way to prove it.”</p><p>“Taskmaster,” Neal muttered, just loudly enough to be sure he was heard, but his eyes were twinkling as he began to read the file before him.</p><p>They spent the next week poring over Mortensen documents—though Neal also spent a good amount of time figuring out the logistics of a successful cookout—but they were no closer to cracking the case than they’d been for the past six months. But then, a Monet vanished from the Brooklyn Museum, and Mortensen got put on the backburner again.</p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Do you think it’s silly to have hot dogs <em>and</em> brats?” Neal asked as they made their way through the parking lot toward the museum entrance. “And should it be potato salad or coleslaw? Or both?”</p><p>“Focus, Caffrey; we’ve got a Monet to recover, in case you’ve forgotten.”</p><p>But as they climbed the steps toward the entry, Caffey began a recitation. “<em>Houses of Parliament, Sunlight Effect</em>, oil on canvas, circa 1903. As was his custom, Monet painted many variations of the scene; there are a total of nineteen known Parliament canvases. This one was removed from its third-floor location last night, at approximately 2:15, according to security video, though the guard didn’t notice it until he made rounds at three. The frame was cut to remove the painting, but there’s no indication the canvas itself was slashed or otherwise damaged. There was also no sign of a break-in; the museum appeared to be secure, even after the painting was taken. The museum received the item as a bequest from a long-time owner, so there is no recent sales value of this particular piece, but one of the other pieces from the series, <em>Effect of Sun Through Fog</em>, was sold at auction about five years ago for the equivalent of approximately twenty million dollars; <em>Sunlight Effect</em> is thought to be worth at least half that, possibly significantly more for the right buyer.” He finished with a smug look at his handler. “I’m focused.”</p><p>Peter snagged the young man’s arm and pulled him to a stop before they reached the security check-in. “You’re exceedingly well-versed,” he said, narrowing his eyes at the CI. “And we’re only about a mile from my house. Do I need to be worried about where you went after dinner last night?”</p><p>“Nothing that couldn’t be learned through careful reading of the report you threw in my face this morning,” Neal said evenly. “And in case you’ve forgotten, it’s a mile from your house in the wrong direction. I think the marshals might’ve alerted you if I’d ventured even further outside my radius and then loitered around a closed art museum for half the night.” His gaze intensified a bit. “There’s a lot of art in New York City, Peter, and a lot of it gets stolen; you really need to stop thinking it’s me every time, or it’s going to be a long three years.”</p><p>“Three and a half,” Burke corrected automatically. “And you learned all that information from the report?”</p><p>“It’s all there in black and white,” Caffrey answered with a smile, which really wasn’t an answer at all. Then he asked, “So, potato salad or slaw?”</p><p>The agent shook his head and jerked his thumb toward security to get things moving again.</p><hr/><p> </p><p>“They don’t usually let me in places like this,” Neal marveled, looking around the security hub.</p><p>“With good reason.” Peter accompanied the words with a quick whack to the arm. “Try not to commit this stuff to memory, would ya?”</p><p>Caffrey just grinned and continued his examination. They’d already visited the third floor of the collection and seen where the Monet had been hanging, as well taken as a cursory look at all the other galleries to better understand the building layout. They’d also checked out the exterior doors and perimeter security systems—though Neal had declared there was far too much glass in the building to ever be particularly secure—and now they were investigating where it all came together for monitoring, prevention, and reporting.</p><p>“And you don’t have any interruption in any of the video feeds during the robbery window?” Burke asked the security chief, Vincent Wardley.</p><p>“No, sir,” Wardley answered confidently, “every minute is accounted for.”</p><p>“And no indication of any of the entrance points being accessed at any time after close of business?”</p><p>“Only the employee entrance at shift change. I was pulling a double yesterday; Jeremy was on duty at eleven, came through the doors about seven or eight minutes before that. We had a short handoff meeting, but there was nothing for me to report; everything had been totally copacetic. I was out of the building by eleven fifteen.”</p><p>“That’s Jeremy Turner, right?” Peter clarified, and Wardley nodded at him.              </p><p>“Could you run the videos closest to the Monet display for me?” Neal asked suddenly. “Starting maybe ten minutes before the robbery. Just running them through at double speed is fine. Oh, and if you could sync them up, that would be great.”</p><p>Wardley cast a quick glance over at Burke, who glanced at Caffrey, then went along. “That might be really helpful.”</p><p>The chief cued up the videos, and Neal watched closely to fully understand the angles. The missing Monet wasn’t in direct view of any of the cameras, but two of them caught corners of the frame around the picture; that’s how they knew when the painting had disappeared. The three sat silently, staring intently at the small monitor.</p><p>“Wait a minute,” Peter said suddenly, as the picture frame disappeared from both videos, “what was that? Can you back that up just a little bit? Just before the painting’s gone, let it run regular speed.”</p><p>Wardley did as instructed.</p><p>“There,” Peter pointed out, “what’s that small shake on the video?”</p><p>“Just looks like a short glitch,” Wardley told him. “It happens sometimes when the cameras pan around.”</p><p>“On both cameras at the exact same time?” Peter looked over at Neal to find him beaming.</p><p>“Oh, you knew, did you? Enlighten me. What kind of hijinks with the recording caused that?”</p><p>“It’s a simple loop, Peter. Well, probably not actually the simplest; it looks like they spliced a span of time into the video file. But it also looks like they were lazy and spliced in batch, and they were sloppy. That’s a bad combination—bad for them, I mean, good for us. Honestly, it’s usually better to show a looped video to the camera so that it actually records what you want it to see, but that’s easier to do with a partner—or two, in this case, since it would need to cover two cameras. Replacing the file after the fact requires more of a steady hand, and it leaves behind an altered file. As messy as this is, my guess is we’d see some indication of the loop in, too, if we went back far enough. Either way, it probably messes up your timeline a bit, but the forensics team ought to be able to figure it out for you.”</p><p>Wardley was listening intently. “So, you’re saying Jeremy did this?”        </p><p>Caffrey shrugged. “That’s not my place to say, but I’d imagine he needs to at least answer a few questions.”</p><p>“Inside job was our first assumption,” Burke said, “but NYPD checked the video feed from the employee entrance, said there was nothing unusual, and no red flags after talking with Turner.”</p><p>“They didn’t think there was anything unusual about this video, either,” Caffrey pointed out.</p><p>This time, Wardley didn’t wait to be asked and was already cueing up the feed from the employee entrance. “The logs from the perimeter security also don’t show that the door was opened again before I came back after Jeremy called about the robbery, but we can take a look.” He directed his next question at Caffrey. “You want interior and exterior synced up?”</p><p>Agent Burke rolled his eyes, and Caffrey grinned. “That would be perfect, thank you.”</p><p>But there really was nothing unusual about the latest videos, and Jeremy wasn’t carrying anything in or out. “So, how’d he get it out, then?” Burke asked his CI.</p><p>“You mean, how would I pull off the inside job?”</p><p>“Yeah. You ever done that?”</p><p>Caffrey winked at him. “Allegedly.”</p><p>Peter shook his head ruefully. “Why am I not surprised?” Then he repeated, “So, how’d he get it out?”</p><p>“I doubt if he has,” Neal said. “At least not yet.”</p><p>“He hid it here somewhere?” Burke asked incredulously.</p><p>Caffrey shrugged. “That’s what I d—would probably do. Wait a couple of weeks for the heat to die down and walk the piece out right under everyone’s noses.”</p><p>Wardley looked a little worried at realizing Caffrey might not be exactly who he’d thought, but he forged ahead. “The place has been searched,” he said, “by both us and the police.”</p><p>Caffrey shrugged again. “There’s a difference between searching for access methods or looking to see if anything else is missing and actually searching for a particular concealed item. For instance, if I were hiding something here, I would’ve put it up on the fifth floor. Your contemporary gallery is currently closed, preparing for a Ruscha exhibit?”</p><p>The security officer seemed to be moving from worried to suspicious. “How do you know that?”</p><p>Peter smothered a grin and stepped into the mix. “We were up there earlier, remember? And it sounds like maybe we should pay another visit.”</p><p>The next search was more productive, and the missing Monet was discovered in a newly-made hole behind a raised wall panel. Burke placed a call back to the office and dispatched Jones and Berrigan to bring Jeremy Turner in for questioning. Both the museum director and the curator were called from their offices and thanked Burke and Caffrey profusely. Wardley was grateful, too, but when Peter asked for copies of the pertinent videos, he offered to copy them onto a flash drive and did not invite the men back into the security room.</p><p>Burke grinned as they waited in the lobby. “You seem to have lost your new friend already,” he teased.</p><p>Caffrey grinned back at him. “And he was so close to being invited to the cookout this weekend.”</p><p>“Well, he might not be all that impressed, but, as usual, I’m glad you’re on our side now.”</p><p>“Really? Then maybe you’d be willing to do me a favor?”</p><p>“That depends,” Peter said slowly. “What is it?”</p><p>“Always so suspicious,” Neal lamented, though they both knew he wasn’t really bothered this time. “I thought maybe we could make a stop at Top Hops on the way back to the office. They seem to have the best beer selection, but they’re outside my radius. Besides, inside jobs might be my area of expertise, but beer is definitely not.”</p><p>“You do have a one-track mind,” Burke grumbled. “You act like you’ve never planned a cookout before.”</p><p>Standing silently, hands casually in his pockets, Caffrey just raised an eyebrow at the older man.</p><p>It took a few seconds for Peter to catch on. “Wait. You’ve <em>never</em> planned a cookout?”</p><p>“It’s a little more all-American suburbia than most of my life has been,” Neal said with a small smile.</p><p>“I guess it would be difficult to squeeze one in around the jet setting and museum heists.”</p><p>“Now you see my dilemma.”</p><p>“Okay,” Peter chuckled. “After we leave here, we can stop at the bottle shop and mark one thing off your to-do list.” Then he looked around as Wardley approached.</p><p>“Here’s your video files,” the chief said, handing him a small drive, “and thank you again for all your help today.” He looked over at Caffrey, still a little wary, but extended a hand. “And thank you, too, Mr. Caffrey. It looks like you were the perfect man for the job.”</p><p>Neal smiled as he took the offered hand. “We’re glad to help.”</p><p>“Unbelievable,” Peter grouched as they exited the museum. “The world-class art thief—” he broke off and corrected himself before Neal could interject, “—the <em>alleged</em> world-class art thief even wins over the museum security chief.”</p><p>Neal clapped a hand on his back. “After winning over the senior field agent in the New York City White Collar Crime Unit, everything else is child’s play.”</p><hr/><p> </p><p>Jeremy Turner wasn’t any better at being interrogated than he’d been at any other part of the heist, and his confession came quickly. They were back on the Mortenson case the next day, but Neal was honestly glad to have something boring for the last couple of days of the week. The lists and notes he was making to finalize his cookout details kept him looking like he was working, but he didn’t have to feel like he was shirking anything too important. Peter had chosen a nice selection of summertime beer that would be delivered early Saturday morning, giving them plenty of time to chill in the fridge before Sunday afternoon. He’d also placed an order for delivery of ground beef, frankfurters, and bratwurst from the local butcher shop, as well as a large grocery order for everything else—large enough that Mozzie had asked what kind of heist he was planning to pay for it all.</p><p>Beyond the food, June was letting him borrow all the chairs from her dining room as well as some fold-up chairs, and he’d already started carrying those up to his apartment and rearranging his furniture to maximize space for socializing. He’d arranged to rent a large grill, a griddle top, and a small fridge for the weekend, and Clinton and Diana had offered to put together a playlist for the occasion. Lastly, Elizabeth Burke had been recruited to be in charge of some low-key decorations, necessary paper products, and a few serving accessories; she was coming over Saturday to help put up whatever she had decided upon.</p><p>By the time five o’clock Friday rolled around, Neal thought he had everything taken care of. People had been heading out for the long weekend since about two. As they passed, he was making sure everyone who needed it had his address or any other last-minute bits of information and telling them he was really looking forward to seeing them Sunday afternoon.</p><p>By 5:10, the White Collar office was empty—really, the entire building was likely empty at that point— and Peter made his way to Neal’s desk. “Everyone really seems to be looking forward to your shindig this weekend.”</p><p>“I hope so,” Neal said, taking his jacket from the back of his chair and pulling it on, making sure the pocket still held the thumb drive Jones had dropped off for him that morning. He slipped a few case folders into an already full accordion file and pulled the elastic band around the flap to secure it.</p><p>“What’s with the homework?” Burke asked as they walked toward the elevator. “Trying to get a head start on next week?”</p><p>Caffrey gave him a rueful grin. “More like catching up on this week. I may have been a little bit distracted the last couple of days, not that I expect that’s really a surprise to you.”</p><p>Peter returned the grin. “That’s okay; everyone gets holiday-itis.”</p><p>“Well, everyone’s not a convicted felon out on a pass,” Neal said lightly as the doors slid shut behind them, “but I appreciate you not making a big deal out of it.”</p><p>Burke shot a glare across the elevator. “Don’t do that.”</p><p>“Do what?”</p><p>“Minimize your role here,” Burke replied.</p><p>“Oh.” Caffrey flushed slightly and examined the band on the file he was holding, keeping his eyes carefully averted from Burke. He wore a tiny, pleased smile when he simply said, “Okay.”</p><p>Peter let the message sink in for a couple of floors before saying, “El says we’re coming over tomorrow to help with the setup. I know she’s got some decoration stuff, but do you need anything else?”</p><p>“Sorry, I didn’t know she was dragging you into it, too. But, no, I don’t think I need anything else.”</p><p>“You know I’m jealous of your view; I don’t mind an excuse to come enjoy it.”</p><p>“I’ll even make you some of June’s coffee,” Neal promised.</p><hr/><p> </p><p>By the time the Burkes arrived at Riverside Drive the next morning, all of the scheduled deliveries had arrived. Beer, soda, and wine had been placed in the refrigerator, the grill was on the balcony, Neal had already peeled potatoes and had a large pot boiling on the stove, and he was adeptly forming precise hamburger patties that looked as if they’d come off some sort of press.</p><p>“Good morning,” he called across the room as they reached his open door. He washed his hands quickly and turned to give Elizabeth a quick hug and relieved her of the large bags she was carrying. He started emptying items onto the dining table, which had been moved in front of the fireplace to open up the space.</p><p>Peter followed suit with the bags he was carrying, then looked around the area. Out on the balcony, there were three additional patio tables, as well four patio umbrellas that were currently folded down, but positioned so that large areas would be shaded once they were open. Folding chairs placed strategically around the space, the rented propane grill was over at the far edge, and a couple of large floor fans were situated out of the way but ready to help offset the New York heat. Inside the apartment, chairs were scattered about everywhere, three high-top pub tables had been placed around the open area, and the ever-present easel and its associated painting supplies that were often a focal point were nowhere to be seen. “It looks different like this,” he commented, “a lot bigger.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Neal agreed. “I prefer the more intimate feel myself, but we’ll need more room tomorrow.”</p><p>“Where’d you get all this stuff, anyway?”</p><p>Caffrey shrugged. “Some of it’s June’s, some of it I rented; Mozzie helped me find the rest of it.”</p><p>“<em>Mozzie</em>?” Peter was clearly concerned.</p><p>“Don’t worry, Peter; I made sure he understood nothing could be stolen.”</p><p>“What about borrowed without permission?” Burke growled.</p><p>A flicker of doubt crossed Caffrey’s face. “I might not’ve been that specific,” he admitted slowly. He regrouped quickly. “But I promise, wherever it came from, I’ll make sure it all gets put back.”</p><p>“I think it’s great you’re doing this, Neal,” Elizabeth broke in before her husband could throw a wrench in things before they even got started. “Your office works too hard; it’ll be nice for everyone to be able to be together and relax.”</p><p>Caffrey gave his standard refrain. “I hope so.” He turned back toward the kitchen. “Let me just put this meat in the fridge, and then we can get started with whatever you’ve brought. Oh, and did you guys want some coffee?” He held up the French press. “Italian roast.”</p><p>“I’ve been hearing about June’s coffee for months now,” El said, “so, yeah, I need to try some. But don’t stop what you’re doing. Peter and I can take care of this stuff; you keep after your food prep.”</p><p>Neal poured two cups of coffee and first carried one to Elizabeth. “You sure? I can get back to hamburger patties anytime.”</p><p>“You haven’t learned yet that it’s pointless to argue with my wife?” Peter asked as Neal handed him his own cup. “She’s not a pushover like me.”</p><p>“Pushover,” Neal scoffed. “That’ll be the day. Just drink your coffee.” He turned back to his patties.</p><p>“Oh my gosh,” El said from behind him, “this <em>is</em> delicious.”</p><p>“Told you,” Peter smiled.</p><p>“You know,” Neal began, “I can understand Peter being so impressed; that swill at the office is not hard to improve upon. But, you, Elizabeth, surely at least some of your caterers make a decent cup of coffee.”</p><p>“I don’t think <em>anyone</em> makes good coffee by the urnful,” she answered.</p><p>“You have a point there,” Neal laughed. “Well, you’re welcome here anytime you need a good caffeine fix. And that goes for your pushover husband, too.”</p><hr/><p> </p><p>Neal really hadn’t intended to take up their entire Saturday, but after the Burkes had put all manner of red, white, and blue décor on display—bunting hung from the balustrade outside; a pennant garland across the fireplace; a tablecloth and stacks of disposable plates, cups, and utensils on the dining table; swirly firework streamers hung from the ceiling; a few flags and Uncle Sam hats on the walls; a patriotic wreath on the door; and a collection of frivolous bead necklaces on the table by the door for anyone who wanted to don a little extra decoration on their person—Elizabeth had insisted on helping Neal with the food preparation.</p><p>Together, the two of them had put together vegetable kabobs, made potato salad <em>and</em> coleslaw, cooked up a pot of baked beans, baked a large pan of mac and cheese, and tossed a fruit salad, talking and laughing the entire time. Peter grabbed a beer, flipped on the TV, and watched the Yankees thoroughly trounce the Blue Jays, occasionally joining in their conversation, but mostly just smiling affectionately whenever he glanced toward the kitchen.</p><p>When the seventh inning stretch rolled around, everyone was hungry, so Neal ordered pizza. By the time it arrived, Peter had moved on to the Mets and Nationals, but Neal and Elizabeth were still quietly planning while he enjoyed the game.</p><p>“What about desserts?” El asked. “Not that people are probably going to have much room for that after all this food.”</p><p>“Everybody kept asking what they could bring,” Neal explained, “so I told them if they really wanted to, to bring a small dessert so we could end up with a nice assortment.”</p><p>“That was a good plan. Maybe I’ll whip up some of that pistachio gelato you like.”</p><p>“Elizabeth! You do not do another single thing, you hear me? Look at everything you’ve done to help out today. This place looks fantastic, and I won’t have to be up all night cooking thanks to you. You’ve done more than enough.” He raised a wine glass toward her in appreciation. “You’re absolutely the best.”</p><p>“She is, isn’t she?” Peter interrupted. “But are you two going to watch the game <em>at all</em>? I’m still hoping to see the Nationals pull out a win here, if you’re done with harping on all the logistical details. It’s a holiday cookout; people will come, they’ll eat, they’ll drink, have a good time, and go home. It isn’t storming the beaches at Normandy or even taking a Monet from the Brooklyn Museum. So, eat your pizza, drink your wine, and watch the game, will ya?”</p><p>Neal and Elizabeth exchanged grins as they turned their attention to the TV, but Caffrey did have one last comment. “Yes, sir, you pushover, you.”</p><hr/><p> </p><p>“What time does the suit invasion get here?” Mozzie asked late Sunday morning.</p><p>“About four,” Neal told him. “I figured that put us past the worst of the heat and still gives us five or six hours before fireworks, which surely is enough together time for co-workers.” He fixed his friend with a sincere gaze. “I still wish you’d come. June will be here, and Elizabeth.”</p><p>“I would do a lot of things for you, <em>mon frère</em>, but spending an evening socializing at a suit convention is not one of them.”</p><p>Caffrey smiled. “Okay, I get it, but just remember the invitation’s open if you change your mind.” Then he remembered Peter’s concern from the day before. “Hey, Moz, I hate to ask, but the umbrellas and tables you got for me—”</p><p>“<em>Borrowed</em>,” Mozzie interrupted, “not stolen. You were very clear about that.”</p><p>“I wanted to clarify a little more. Borrowed in the traditional sense, or borrowed in the sense that the owner doesn’t know, but you plan to return them?”</p><p>“Tomato, tomahto.”</p><p>Neal groaned. “You get that I’m having a house full of law enforcement officers over, right?”</p><p>“I’m well aware of your questionable life choices. Trust me, no one knows they’re gone.”</p><p>“I trust you, Moz, but let’s take them back first thing tomorrow, okay? If I get arrested on a holiday, it’ll take forever to make bail.”</p><p>“I’m way ahead of you on that; a truck will be here at ten a.m.”</p><p>“Okay, perfect, thank you.” Caffrey sighed and let the topic go. “But for right now, what shall we have for lunch? Would you rather I fire up some burgers or maybe whip up some omelets?”</p><p>“Let’s go with omelets,” Moz told him, “you’re going to spend enough time out in the heat standing over a hot grill. I’ll go downstairs and see if I can sweet talk June into letting me squeeze some orange juice.”</p><p>Caffrey raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Juice?”</p><p>“For you, I mean. For myself, I noticed you’ve got a nice gamay in the fridge that should be perfect.”</p><p>Laughing, Neal made his way to the kitchen.</p><hr/><p> </p><p>June came upstairs at 3:45. “Any last-minute things I can help you with, dear?”</p><p>Caffrey smiled. “I think I’m as ready as I can be.” From the refrigerator, he was pulling pitchers of cucumber water and lemonade. “I just need to get these drinks poured into the beverage dispensers, and then I’ll be ready to throw stuff on the grill.”</p><p>“Let me do that,” she told him. “You go man the grill.”</p><p>Caffrey bent to kiss her cheek. “Thank you.” Then he remembered something. “Oh, wait,” he said, stepping quickly over to the living area. “I found a couple of summer hats stashed way back in the closet.” Eyes twinkling, he twirled a beige straw fedora onto his head that perfectly completed his casual outfit.</p><p>“Oh, Neal,” June beamed, “I’m so glad you found that. That shirt was already making your eyes shine, but you always look so dashing in a hat. I hope you’ve got some single ladies on your guest list today.”</p><p>“June!” Caffrey laughed, as a slight blush crept up his face. “Today is not about matchmaking. But I love you for thinking a hat is all I need to make it happen.” He moved to the kitchen to wash his hands. “Don’t forget that everyone coming today knows exactly why I’m not wearing shorts to my own cookout on one of the hottest days of the year.” He tossed her a quick wink as he headed out to the balcony.</p><p>Neal quickly put an assortment of food on the fire—brats, franks, and kabobs on the grill plate, burgers on the griddle—then wiped his hands on a towel he’d thrown over his shoulder and stepped back inside to pour himself a glass of wine. “I’m not sure the plastic cup is going to do justice to this Bandol,” he commented as he poured, “but can I interest you in a glass? It’s the Domain Tempier you turned me onto.”</p><p>“No thank you, dear, I’ll stick to the water for now. I’m afraid I’ve already been snacking on your prosecco grapes over here; they are delicious.”</p><p>Caffrey grinned at her. “It’s hard to beat boozy fruit.”</p><p>“Boozy fruit?” repeated a voice from the doorway. “Then, I’ve definitely found the right place.”</p><p>“Blake! Welcome, I’m glad you could make it. I’ve got to get out there and flip the burgers, but Blake, this is June Ellington, the lovely lady kind enough to rent out her loft to me; June, this is Eric Blake, and it looks like he comes bearing sweet gifts.”</p><p>“Snickerdoodles,” Blake confirmed.</p><p>“Great, thanks.” Neal took the covered plate from the young agent and turned to place it on the table. “Blake, make yourself at home.” He gestured toward the spread on the table and sideboard. “There are snacks here, beer and soda in the fridge, wine next to the fridge, and burgers and such will start coming off the grill shortly.”</p><p>“You have a beautiful home,” Blake said to June as he looked around the place, eyes wide with awe. “I’m sure Neal loves living here.”</p><p>“I love having him here,” the woman answered with a smile.</p><p>Blake looked like he might be a little bit surprised by that, but he smiled in return just the same. “He certainly keeps things interesting.”</p><p>“He does that,” June agreed. “You should try the grapes.”</p><p>“Boozy fruit,” he grinned. “Can’t beat it.” And he wandered over to give it a try.</p><p>Other agents and staff started arriving soon after. Blake had offered to take over at the grill to allow Neal to play host, but Caffrey declined, so the young agent took it upon himself to act as the unofficial greeter, introducing June, pointing the way to necessary items, and slipping beads around anybody’s neck who would let him.</p><p>Diana Berrigan arrived outside the house at the same time as Clinton Jones.</p><p>“You didn’t bring a date?” Diana asked her partner as they climbed the steps to the front door.</p><p>Jones shook his head with a small grin. “I looked up the address. Wasn’t about to bring someone along to let them see the convicted felon living about a million times above my paygrade. What about you?</p><p>“Christie got stuck working today,” Berrigan told him. “And I can’t wait to see inside this place.”</p><p>The agents exchanged a quick look when a housekeeper answered the door, then they followed her directions upstairs to Neal’s loft. “Might’ve been a good call on the date thing,” Diana muttered.</p><p>They reached the top of the stairs, and both froze in the open doorway of Neal’s apartment. “Oh my god,” Diana breathed.</p><p>“That’s been the general reaction,” Blake laughed.</p><p>“This is unbelievable,” Diana continued. She looked around slowly, taking in not only the beauty of the space itself, but the festive décor, the music playing just loudly enough to provide a pleasant soundtrack, and the dozen or so co-workers and plus-ones who were already mingling comfortably, smiles on everyone’s face. “But, it’s also perfectly <em>Caffrey</em>.”</p><p>“I <em>think</em> he’d be pleased to hear that,” June commented from behind her, just a hint of reproach in her tone.</p><p>The agent had the grace to look abashed as she turned to face the voice. “It certainly wasn’t meant to offend,” Diana assured the older woman. She offered her hand. “Diana Berrigan. I work closely with Neal.”</p><p>June smiled then, as she shook her hand. “Ah, the lady suit.”</p><p>“Yes,” Berrigan laughed, “I think that’s me. And you must be June. Your home is lovely.”</p><p>Blake resumed his duties, slipping beads around Diana’s neck and shooing her on her way, then introducing June and Clinton, but he could not persuade Jones to accept a necklace, no matter how hard he tried.</p><p>Diana placed an apple pie among the assortment of desserts on the table, grabbed a couple of potato chips and a bottle of beer, then made her way to say hello to the grill master. She stood close to Neal, bumping their shoulders in greeting. “This is great,” she told him with a smile. “And this apartment . . .” She just shook her head, still in awe, and gawked at the view.</p><p>“It’s pretty fantastic, isn’t it?” he replied, flipping burgers like a pro. “June is a real doll to open her home to me.”</p><p>“She seems very fond of you,” Diana commented.</p><p>“She’s a good friend,” Neal said simply. He examined the food before him. “Looks like this batch is done,” he grinned, “can I interest you in anything?”</p><p>Snagging a plate from the stack next to the grill, Diana grinned back at him. “Damn straight. Burger and veggies, please and thank you.”</p><p>“All the toppings are inside where it’s cooler,” Caffrey said as he placed the items on her plate. “And, Diana, thanks for coming.”</p><p>“No place I’d rather be,” she told him, giving him another nudge before heading off in search of condiments and cheese.</p><p>“Freshly cooked food!” Neal called out across the balcony, then laughed happily as the line began forming at the grill.</p><p>Caffrey had gotten into a pretty good routine. Get the food grilled to perfection, load up everyone’s plates, toss fresh food from the fridge onto the grill, then make the rounds chatting with people for a few minutes until it was time to return to the grill. This cycle, he was also taking a minute to pull another couple of bottles of wine from the fridge to let them start reaching proper temp—and pouring himself another glass in the process—and loading more beer into the refrigerator.</p><p>A couple of newly arrived agents approached the refrigerator as he was rearranging. Neal looked up and smiled a greeting. “Alan, Joe, welcome to the party. Where are your lovely wives?”</p><p>“They saw that window and made a beeline to the balcony,” Alan replied.</p><p>Neal chuckled. “Well, it is quite the view. What can I get you guys to drink then? Beer, soda, wine? Or there’s lemonade over on the table.”</p><p>“What wine can you recommend?” Joe asked.</p><p>“Several. But I’ve got this great sauvignon blanc out of Washington that goes nicely with grilled food,” Neal said, “or, a really solid Sardinian red, if you’d rather go that route.”</p><p>“Let’s go white for now,” Joe decided, “red after the sun goes down. And I think Vickie would like the same.”</p><p>“I like the way you think,” Caffrey said approvingly, pouring two glasses. “And what about you, Alan? You’re a beer guy if I recall.”</p><p>“Good memory.”</p><p>“Well, I can’t speak to that as authoritatively,” he admitted, “but Peter tells me that any of these choices are a good bet. We’ve got an imperial IPA, porter, a pale lager, steam beer, and a cream ale.” He opened the refrigerator door. “Take your pick.” Then he picked up his own cup of the sauvignon blanc. “I’ve got to get back to the grill,” he told them, “but I’m really glad you guys are here. Please, make yourselves at home.”</p><p>He said hello to Jones on his way back to the grill, then noticed Janice, their clerk, was bopping about to the music, so he paused long enough to give her a twirl, a quick dip—which he managed without spilling a drop of his wine—and a breathtaking smile, then returned to his station just in time to turn the burgers, brats, and veggies and throw some franks on to cook.</p><p>When he called out the next batch of food, Neal looked up to see Peter and Elizabeth at the head of the food line. “Burkes!” he greeted. “Welcome to the White Collar cookout!”</p><p>“Looks like everyone is having a good time,” Peter said with a smile as he accepted a bratwurst and a burger.</p><p>“I think so. Your beer selections seem to have been met with approval. And, Elizabeth, your mac and cheese has been a big hit.”</p><p>El nudged her husband in the ribs. “Keep it moving, buddy, there are hungry people behind you.”</p><p>Peter laughed and stepped out of the way while his wife asked for two hot dogs. Then Elizabeth slipped back behind the grill while Neal kept slapping food onto plates. She gave him a quick, one-armed hug. “This was a great idea, Neal.”</p><p>It wouldn’t have seemed possible, but Neal’s smile grew even brighter. “I think it’s going pretty well.”</p><p>Agent Brandon Westley was in front of him, getting one of everything. “I think it’s going more than ‘pretty well,’ Neal,” he chimed in. “This is fantastic. And your place is spectacular. Thank you so much for doing this.”</p><p>Caffrey’s cheeks reddened slightly. “You’re more than welcome.” Elizabeth gave him another affectionate squeeze then wandered off in search of her husband. Neal finished with the current serving line, threw another batch of food on the grill then wandered the apartment again, making his rounds.</p><p>He greeted all the FBI employees by name, met many spouses/significant others/friends, thanked them all for coming, and lost track of the number of times he heard how beautiful his apartment was. He was almost giddy by the time he returned to the grill, only to find Peter there, beginning to flip the burgers.</p><p>“Peter, I didn’t invite you to put you to work; let me do this.”</p><p>“You need a break.”</p><p>“I just had a break,” Neal pointed out. “And besides, this is hardly work.”</p><p>“Have you eaten yet?” Peter asked.</p><p>“I’ve had some grapes,” the younger man grinned.</p><p>“I’m not sure that counts. Have you had anything that didn’t include alcohol?”</p><p>Caffrey just shrugged and kept grinning.</p><p>“Then no arguments. As soon as these are done, you’re eating something. It’s almost a hundred degrees out here, and you’ve been standing over this grill for a couple hours now. I don’t want you passing out on me. Or ending up drunk off your ass, actually.”</p><p>Neal laughed. “You’re sweet when you worry. Almost like a pushover.”</p><p>Burke shook his head, a long-suffering expression on his face, then pointed his spatula toward the house. “Go now and get yourself some potato salad or chips or whatever you plan to have with your burger. These will be done in just a few minutes.” He pushed a plate into Caffrey’s hands. “Go. Before you find out just how much of a pushover I’m not.”</p><p>Caffrey was still laughing as he turned to do as he was told. He was scooping potato salad onto his plate when June sidled up beside him. “Your house is a big hit,” he told the woman.</p><p>“You mean, your <em>home</em>,” she corrected gently.</p><p>He smiled at her affectionately. “Right.”</p><p>“I’ve been chatting with that nice young woman, Janice,” June began, “she’s really quite lovely. And, apparently, she’s single.”</p><p>“June . . .”</p><p>“She seems quite taken with you, you know. And with that hat today . . .”</p><p>Neal laughed. “She sees me in a hat every day, June, so I don’t think that’s the sure thing you seem to think it is. Besides, you can’t tell me you think it’s a good idea to date someone at work?”</p><p>“Why not? And where else are you going to meet someone, anyway?”</p><p>“There must be three dozen bars and restaurants within two miles of this place, June, the gym, the grocery store, a walk in the park—lots of places, if I were actually looking.”</p><p>“Okay, you’ve made your point. I just thought . . .”</p><p>“I know what you thought, June,” Neal said softly, “and I appreciate it. I know you’ve been worried about me. But I’m okay, really. And today has been fantastic. I can’t thank you enough for being okay with all this.”</p><p>“Well, as I said, dear, it is your home.”</p><p>“You’re the best,” Neal said sincerely. “Truly the best.”</p><p>June reached up and patted his cheek. “The feeling is mutual.” Then her attention was drawn to the window. “I think Peter is trying to tell you something.”</p><p>Caffrey turned to see Burke gesticulating wildly with the spatula, directing his CI back to the grill. “He has control issues,” he grinned. “But I suppose I’d better go get my burger before he gives himself an aneurysm.”</p><p>“You’re going a little overboard with the mother hen thing,” Neal said mildly as he took a burger. “It’s not like I’m starving or anything; I did eat earlier today. And, contrary to what you might be thinking, I haven’t been on some sort of a bender while I’ve been over here grilling.” He leaned himself against the balustrade behind Peter and took a bite. Then he grinned. “But you are still sweet when you worry.”</p><p>After another couple bites, Caffrey said, “I’m gonna mingle a bit. I’ll be back to take over the next batch.”</p><p>The first empty seat Neal came to was at a table occupied by Agent Sam Gill and Susan Silva, another of the office support staff. Like the other attendees, they looked relaxed in their summer casual wear—different than Neal was used to seeing them—and they were laughing as they enjoyed their meal. “Mind if I join you?”</p><p>“Please,” Susan said, gesturing at the empty seat. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you at all today.”</p><p>Neal set his plate on the table, then realized he needed a drink, and, though he wouldn’t admit it to Peter, probably not more wine. “I’ve gotta grab a drink,” he said to the others, “can I bring anything for you?”</p><p>Sam shook his head, but Susan said, “If there’s any more of that chenin blanc, I wouldn’t turn it down.”</p><p>“Oh, it’s good, isn’t it? You know it’s bottled just a couple hours from here, out on Long Island.”</p><p>“Really? I did not know that.”</p><p>“Well, heck,” Sam said, “if it’s local, maybe I should give it a taste.”</p><p>Neal grinned. “You got it. Right back.”</p><p>He returned moments later carrying three red plastic cups, which he dispersed around the table. “Two chenin blancs, and one lemonade for the guy who started drinking <em>way</em> too early.”</p><p>Sam raised his cup toward the others. “To good times.”</p><p>“And to good company,” Neal added, raising his own.</p><p>“Hear, hear,” Susan said, as the three touched their cups and drank.</p><p>And Neal smiled.</p><p>“I guess I better go relieve the boss from grill duty,” he said after he’d finished his meal.</p><p>“Yeah,” Sam grinned at him. “You should’ve let me help when I offered earlier, then you wouldn’t be in this mess. Leave him over there too long, and you might be on mortgage fraud for a month.”</p><p>Caffrey conjured up a not entirely false look of horror. “Anything but that!” And he hurried from the table.</p><p>“Your relief has arrived,” Neal said, wresting the spatula from Peter’s hand. “Thanks for holding down the fort, Mario.”</p><p>Peter grimaced.  “I’m gonna kill Diana,” he grouched.</p><p>Caffrey just laughed and shooed the older man away from the grill as he took a look at the sizzling meat and started flipping.</p><p>He’d cycled through probably another half a dozen more batches of grilling, and Neal had leaned down to check the gauge on the propane tank when he heard the gruff voice. “Looks like you got a nice turnout here, Caffrey.” He straightened up quickly.</p><p>“Agent Hughes. I’m glad you could join us, sir.” It had been something of an ongoing debate whether or not the ASAC would make an appearance.</p><p>The older man pulled a drink from his beer bottle as he cast an appraising look over the CI. “I hear you’re cooking up a pretty mean burger over here.”</p><p>“I’m doing my best, sir,” Caffrey said with a small smile. “And you’re just in time to be at the head of the line; these are almost done.”</p><p>“Between you and me, Caffrey, I prefer mine a little bit rare, so why don’t you pull one of those off for me now? Just don’t tell my wife.”</p><p>“Yes, sir.” Caffrey flipped a warmed bun over on the griddle, placed a burger onto the bread, topped it, then slid the entire thing onto a waiting plate. “Here you go, sir. All the condiments and sides are inside, and I’ll make sure this stays our little secret.”</p><p>“Thanks, Caffrey. And, listen, it’s a holiday, and this is your house. Maybe tonight, you could call me Reese.”</p><p>Caffrey straightened almost imperceptibly, but the happiness on his face couldn’t be missed. “I’d like that, si—Reese.”</p><p>“But just tonight,” Hughes reminded him, though his lips twitched in the beginning of a smile.</p><p>“Yes, sir,” Caffrey agreed with a wink, “just tonight.”</p><p>Just a few minutes later, Neal declared the food ready to go, and, once again, a small line of people quickly formed at the grill. As had been the case all evening, the food line was a constant stream of thanks, amazement over the apartment, introductions of guests, some quickly snapped photos, and good-natured comments about Caffrey’s sense of style even when dressing down. And <em>lots</em> of offers to take a turn at the grill, but so far, only Peter had pulled rank and made that happen, for which Neal was grateful. He really did want everyone to relax and enjoy themselves, and he was having an excellent time just taking it all in from behind the grill.</p><p>This time, by the time the line was gone, there was still food left on the grill. Neal dragged the phone out of his pocket to check the time—going on eight o’clock. People had been coming and going all evening—mostly coming—but he thought it had been a while since there’d been any big influx of guests. Looking around now, he thought most everyone had been through the grill line at least once. It appeared to be moving into the dessert and continued drinking phase of the evening, so he thought he could abandon the grill for a while.</p><p>And, now that he thought about it, he thought maybe dessert and drinking didn’t sound too bad. But first, he needed to pull the dessert wines from the fridge so they could start warming slightly. He’d chosen a light and fruity muscat and a super smooth ruby port to accompany desserts tonight, thinking they were both flexible enough they’d be okay no matter what sort of dessert assortment he received. But for himself, he’d been thinking about the Sardinian red since he’d offered it to Joe hours ago, and even though it wasn’t quite after sundown, he was ready for something with just a bit more substance. He poured himself a generous cupful then stepped over to the table to see what might tempt him there.</p><p>Staring at the array of sweets, he realized he’d not really looked at them in quite a while. There were cookies, cupcakes, cheesecake, gelatin parfaits (which he was glad someone had the foresight to put onto the cooling plate), a couple of pies, and—his personal favorite at the moment—honey croissants. Grabbing a plate, he chose a croissant and also a parfait, plus a few more of the prosecco grapes—might as well mix as many flavors as possible.</p><p>After loading his plate, Neal simply stood and surveyed his apartment. It appeared there were probably thirty or thirty-five people scattered throughout the loft, and they all seemed to be smiling. Some were still eating, some just sitting talking to each other, drink in hand, a few were dancing. But, currently, the largest gathering was over in the living room area, which had apparently become a pseudo karaoke bar. The edge of his bedroom alcove was serving as the stage, with all the chairs in the living room having been pulled around in a semi-circle to form the audience. Then, anyone who knew whatever song was playing from the speakers would run up to the stage and sing along at the top of their lungs, with the audience offering all manner of encouragement. This must explain why he thought he’d heard June singing earlier. Currently, one of the younger Harvard crew—Evan Lancaster—was belting out <em>I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing</em>, doing his best Steven Tyler moves. Caffrey laughed out loud.</p><p>“He couldn’t have even been out of diapers when that thing was on the radio,” came a grumble from beside him.</p><p>Neal turned to grin at Berrigan. “He’s not that young, Diana,” he laughed, “probably only a couple years younger than I am.”</p><p>“Younger than you <em>are</em>, or younger than your Neal Caffrey birth certificate <em>says</em> you are?”</p><p>“You’ve been hanging around Peter too long,” Neal grinned. Then he simply ignored the question. “Anyway, Evan’s doing a pretty good job.”</p><p>“He is,” Diana agreed, chuckling. “And you can’t blame a girl for trying.”</p><p>“No, I cannot,” he agreed lightly.</p><p>The audience applauded wildly when Evan finished, and then Janice ran up to take on <em>Party in the USA</em>.</p><p>Caffrey had set aside his untouched plate of sweets and was swaying to the rhythm. “I’ve been meaning to tell you that you guys put together the most eclectic playlist.”</p><p>Berrigan jabbed an elbow into his ribs. “Hey, people are singing, they’re dancing, they’re tapping their feet while they’re visiting. It did its job.”</p><p>“Yeah, it did. You guys did a good job.” He took a sip of his wine and turned to her with a straight face. “Though, truth be told, I’m not sure how I feel about a song that glamorizes the phrase ‘put your hands up,’ but I can see the appeal for you law enforcement types.”</p><p>“You’re awful!” Diana laughed. “And, for the record, it’s ‘put <em>my</em> hands up.’ Totally different deal.”</p><p>The whole audience sang along with Janice on the final chorus, most of them out of their chairs dancing, too. “You guys did a good job,” Neal repeated, still smiling at the scene. “But, I guess I should go mingle a bit.” He glanced outside, taking in the darkening sky. “Not much longer to wait for the big show.” He gave her another smile, then wandered out toward the balcony, taking his plate of dessert with him.</p><p>Peter and Elizabeth were outside, sharing a table with Jones, Hughes, and June, and El waved Neal over. “Hi there,” he greeted jovially as he slid down into the empty seat. “How’s everything going out here?”</p><p>“You work with some lovely people, Neal,” June commented, and Neal nodded his agreement.</p><p>“Caffrey,” Jones began, “I have to tell you, this was one of the best ideas you’ve had. And, I kinda hate to admit it, but that’s saying a lot. It’s been a blast.”</p><p>Neal smiled. “I’m glad.” But something through the side door near his bedroom caught his attention, and he raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Reese, I didn’t know Mrs. Hughes was a singer.” They all turned to see Karen Hughes taking her turn on the ‘stage’ and bopping her way through <em>My Life Would Suck Without You</em>. “She’s very hip,” he grinned. “Honestly, if I’d known we had such an assortment of talent, I would’ve just rented a karaoke machine to begin with.”</p><p>“Next time,” Hughes said, rising from the table and going inside to cheer for his wife.</p><p>Caffrey watched for a moment, laughing, then returned his attention to his tablemates to find both Peter and Jones staring at him incredulously. “What?” he demanded.</p><p>Peter was the first one to put the thought into words. “<em>Reese</em>?”</p><p>“Oh, that.”</p><p>“Yeah, <em>that</em>. Don’t be pushing your luck, Caffrey. Hughes is not the kind of guy you want to piss off.”</p><p>Jones nodded in agreement, and Caffrey laughed again. “Just for tonight,” he assured them, “and with permission. But don’t worry, Peter; you’ll always be my favorite boss.”</p><p>Neal had finally gotten to take a bite of his croissant when the first lone firework shot up through the darkness. He jumped to his feet and ran inside. “They’re starting!”</p><p>The karaoke broke up immediately, and everyone ran out onto the balcony. Neal waited until everyone was outside, flipped off most of the lights, and followed them slowly outside. He positioned himself away from the others, back at the edge of the balcony near the grill. He loved the way the world seemed to agree that for just a few minutes, all the lights would be shut off, making way for the bright colors racing across the night.</p><p>He was torn between watching the fireworks and watching his friends watch the fireworks, so he was alternating, checking out the brightly colored sky, then letting his eyes track down to the shadows filling the balcony. He waited for their faces to appear in the momentary brightness, upturned and enthralled, the oohs and aahs so synchronized they sounded rehearsed. And through it all, a contented smile lit his face.</p><p>“What are you doing hiding out over here?”</p><p>Caffrey lowered his eyes from the sky and smiled in the direction of the approaching voice. “I’m not hiding, this spot just has the best view.”</p><p>Peter took the last couple of steps to reach the balustrade then leaned against it next to Caffrey. He cast a glance over at the younger man. “You’re not even watching the show,” he accused lightly.</p><p>“The fireworks aren’t the only show,” Neal told him softly.</p><p>“Well, you should be proud of yourself; your very first cookout went off without a hitch.”</p><p>“I had a lot of help.”</p><p>Burke turned his head to look at him more directly. “Are you minimizing again?”</p><p>Caffrey laughed at that. “Not at all.”</p><p>“You did a good thing here today, Neal,” Peter told him sincerely. “Everyone is having a great time.”</p><p>“I’m glad to do it,” Neal answered, “they do a lot for me.” He offered a small smile to his partner. “You <em>all</em> do a lot for me. Never think I don’t appreciate it.” Then he turned his gaze back to the sky and watched silently for a while, sipping at his wine.</p><p>Finally, he spoke again. “We should make this a tradition.”</p><p>Burke arched his eyebrows, knowing it wasn’t really like Caffrey to even hint at putting down those sorts of roots, even though the young man had recently confessed that he didn’t want to run anymore. “You won’t get any objections from this group,” Peter answered, hoping it was the right thing to say.</p><p>Caffrey still had his eyes focused upward, watching the dancing explosions. “Mozzie says it’s weird to celebrate Independence Day with the people who keep me a prisoner.” There wasn’t any accusation in the tone, just a touch of uncertainty, like he was still testing out the idea.</p><p>Peter shrugged. “I prefer to think of us as the people who gave you some freedom, so it makes perfect sense to me.”</p><p>And at that, Caffrey’s smile spread across his face, though he still didn’t look at Peter. “That’s what <em>I</em> said.”</p><p>The CI sounded slightly vindicated, and Burke felt himself relax before he’d even recognized his tension.</p><p>Peter nudged his young friend’s shoulder for attention. “Maybe we just call it a four-year tradition,” he suggested. “We can see what happens after that.”</p><p>“Makes sense,” Neal agreed.</p><p>Shifting to face Caffrey, Peter raised his bottle. “To three more years.”</p><p>Neal met the bottle with his cup of wine. “Three years,” he confirmed. “At least.”</p><p>A burst of color from above lit the friends' smiles as they drank to their new tradition.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>